Someone To Watch Over Me
by Ruthless Bunny
Summary: Who was Bobby's first love and how did she get mixed up in a murder?
1. Default Chapter

Someone to Watch Over Me

By Ruthless Bunny

Usually when I got back from lunch my boss, I'll refer to him as Lucifer for now, had some mess of his that he wanted me to sort out. So you can imagine my surprise when I walked into his office and discovered him neatly shot in the head and quite dead.

As you can imagine, it was a bit of shock, but I soon recovered enough to call 911. When traumatic things happen, you have a tendency to process the information in bits. I remember that it took two attempts before I could master hitting the three necessary numbers in the right sequence. I remember that my secretary, Mrs. Connor looked at me and asked me if she could help. I remember that when the operator asked me what my emergency was that I calmly reported that it appeared that someone had been shot. At least that's what it looked like to me. I'm naturally skeptical, and I don't automatically jump to conclusions.

The fire department arrived first. They pronounced him dead and then we all just waited around for the police. Then a patrolman arrived and made a big show of taking careful notes as we waited for the detectives. I'm guessing that this is more of a tactic to keep everyone hanging around, and not so much an effort at gathering information.

The things that crossed my mind during the wait were of calling my friend Angela to let her know that I would be late in meeting her for drinks. Isn't it funny how the social niceties you learn as a child permeate your actions? I also wondered if Wendell, as his mother had christened him, had picked up his dry cleaning. Then I thought about Mr. and Mrs. Kim and how they would be stuck with five white Brooks Brothers shirts, heavy starch, with the monogram, WWW. Perhaps they could sell them to some Internet entrepreneur at their annual unclaimed laundry sale.

The policeman asked mundane questions. Where had I been? With whom? Could anyone verify my story? As I gave what little information I could, I heard a familiar voice in the hallway.

I knew it at once, although I rejected the notion out of hand. It seemed improbable that after all these years... A tall, broad man walked across the threshold. I recognized the eyes right away and realized that I was in danger of losing my composure. A fair, petite woman followed him. They both wore badges and I knew that not only had the detectives arrived, but that one of them took the form of my first love, Bobby.

I first met Bobby the summer I turned seventeen. I was about to enter my senior year and I needed some tutoring for the SATs. My mother fostered hopes of my attending one of the Seven Sisters schools and to that end had wanted me to become as well prepared as possible. My mother had also decided that I needed to take care of college entrance exams early because I was to formally "come-out" the following June and I would be too busy with parties to be bothered with things like college entrance exams.

Bobby was an acquaintance of my brother's from school. I don't know that they traveled in the same circles, but it was known that Bobby was very bright and that he needed to earn some money to help out with school expenses. When Mother informed me that I would be studying with a tutor I pouted. I am a rather intelligent person, I made good grades, I told her that I could probably study on my own and do just fine. "You'll do no such thing. You'll come home from school and your life will be whirlwind of tennis, riding, swimming and parties and by the time September rolls around, you'll be lucky if you can remember how to fill out the test form correctly. No. You'll study with this young man every day. There will be plenty of time for parties later." I didn't fight with my mother because history had proven that resistance was futile.

It was decided that Bobby would stay the summer with us in our house on Long Island. With my brothers Peter and Greg home as well, I was assured that even if I couldn't go to parties, that parties would regularly come to me.

It was a warm June day and I was finishing breakfast on the terrace. I was hoping to meet my friend Serena for a game of tennis later in the afternoon, so I thought that I'd try and set up a schedule with Bobby that would accommodate my social life as well as my academic study.

He came down into the kitchen wearing a puzzled look on his face. "Looking for some breakfast?" I was always polite to our houseguests.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked around the kitchen. "Yes. Am I too late?"

I wondered what he expected. Yes, our house was quite large, and we did have a staff, but we weren't the kind of family who expected the cook to prepare a full buffet every morning. "No, we're open 24 hours a day here. What do you usually like to eat?" I got up to put my cereal bowl and coffee mug in the dishwasher.

He thought about it. "What did you have?"

"I had Special K, but I'm dieting until July of 1982, don't go by me. I can make you an egg and toast if you like." There was something about him that I liked. When he looked at me, he really _looked_. I got the impression that he was sizing me up and not just from the neck down.

"I'd like that. So you can cook?" He sat down on one of the stools at the counter while I got the eggs out of the fridge.

"A few things." I held up the egg carton and he indicated that he'd like two "Enough to keep a guest from going hungry. We're pretty informal around here. Breakfast is catch as catch can. We usually lunch out and dinner is either here or at a party somewhere. How do you like them?"

I lit the gas on the stove under the frying pan and studied his face. I was attracted to his dark eyes. There was an earnestness there that none of the boys that I knew had. "Scrambled. So where do I fit into all of this?"

I went back into the fridge and found some things to mix into the eggs, some ham, cheese, onions, nothing much. "Well, technically, you're our guest, so you come along with us when we go somewhere. Unless you'd rather stay home and read, or go visit friends you might have somewhere around here."

"I kind of got the impression that I was an employee." He stirred some sugar into the cup of coffee that I had poured for him.

"No, you're not one of the staff. Yes, you're being paid to tutor me, but you're also a friend of Peter's, so technically, you're a guest." I placed the plate in front of him and he gave me a smile.

"This looks good." He started to eat and I watched him.

There's something about watching a man eat your cooking, even if it's just eggs. Right away I started to feel protective of Bobby. "So where are you from?"

He stopped for a minute and thought about it. I thought that was weird because I know where I'm from. "I live in the city."

"That's kind of vague. Did you grow up there too?" I put the pan in the sink and ran some water into it. Lina, our cook, preferred that we not try to clean her pans. She had some kind of method.

He chewed and paused, "Yes."

"Okay. So what do you like to do for fun?" I figured that we had done the origins thing to death; I got the impression that he didn't want to talk about it.

"Fun?" He asked.

"Fun. You know, what you do when you aren't in class, or studying or sleeping." I poured a glass of juice for each of us.

"I don't know." It seemed like it never occurred to him to have fun. "What do you like to do?" He handed me his dishes and I stacked them in the dishwasher.

"I play tennis, swim, ride my horse, read romance novels, go to dances, talk with my friends, and go to parties. The usual stuff. So is it true that college parties are more fun than high school parties?" I didn't have an awful lot on my mind as a teenager.

"I don't know." He bent his head down and looked up at me through his eyebrows. It was strange and unsettling.

"Don't you go to parties?" It seemed inconceivable that a person would go to college and not go to parties. What would be the point of that?

"No. I have other things to do."

I was intrigued; this guy was different from all the other guys I knew. The guys I knew played a sport, studied enough to get by in school and went to parties. We drank enough to have fun, but not enough to disgrace ourselves. "So what other things do you like to do?"

"I have to keep my grades up to keep my scholarship." He seemed ashamed, but I was impressed. I didn't know anyone dedicated enough to their schoolwork, or bright enough to earn a scholarship.

"Wow, a scholarship. You must be a real brain." I smiled at him, to let him know that I thought that his being smart was a good thing.

"Yes, and if you were using yours you'd realize that that's why I'm here. You need to be tutored, I'm the tutor. So how do you want to work this?" He got up and headed towards the patio, "can we go out here?"

I nodded. There was something stunning in the way that he commanded the room. At first he seemed timid and shy, but now he was taking over. He opened the French door and we walked outside. There was the morning garden, where I usually ate breakfast, beyond that was the swimming pool, then the tennis courts. There was a bit of lawn and then the dock. "Well, I guess we can work in the morning after breakfast and then we'll be free from lunch on to do what we want."

"You think that your parents are paying me to do a bit of studying in the morning and that we're just going to vacation the rest of the time?"

Yes, that's exactly what I thought. I shrugged, "what else? I mean, I'm not Rapunzel, I'm not locked in a tower. I do have a life!" I also had a date for tennis that might involve cute guys, and nothing was taking that off the agenda.

"I think we need to talk with your Mom, when she hired me, I had a slightly different understanding. So does this go all the way to the water?" He motioned towards a footpath through the grass.

"Yes, come on, I'll show you." We walked through the grounds and he shook his head. I wasn't sure exactly what he was thinking about, all I knew was that it was a gorgeous day and that I had a whole summer ahead of me full of fun and friends.

We waked to the water's edge and he sat down to take off his shoes. Soon he was standing knee-deep in the water. I kicked off my Papagallo sandals and waded in ankle deep with him. "Do you really think that my Mother wants me to study all summer long?" Again, I pouted, eager to try it with a different audience.

He laughed, "I'll be that look lets you manipulate all sorts of people in your life. Hey, I don't care. Whatever your Mom says, is good enough for me. She's signing the check."

"Okay. So lets get back to the house and square away our schedule with her. Then we're free to make plans." I picked up my sandals and we headed barefoot, back to the house.

Mother was in the kitchen for her second cup of coffee. "So there you are. I thought you could use Daddy's study for your lessons."

"Right, about that, so how much of the day should we be studying?" I scratched my knee as I asked.

"Cynthia, please." I stopped scratching. Mother looked at Bobby, "what do you think a good schedule would be?"

I looked over at Bobby, I implored him with my eyes, but he deliberately avoided looking at me, "I'm not sure, what were Cynthia's scores on the PSAT?"

"Language was fine, she was in the eightieth percentile. It's the quantitative score that her father and I are concerned about. She also needs some test strategies and Miller analogies." Mother poured more cream into her mug.

"In that case I think that two hours a day should be sufficient. Any more than that would be too taxing." He held his breath waiting to see if my mother agreed with his assessment.

"Good, that gives her plenty of time to peruse her other...interests." She looked at me and smiled, "I wouldn't want you to miss out darling."

I hugged her, Mother is so understanding.

"Was there something else that you might need me to do Mrs. White?" Bobby seemed to be at a loss.

"No Bobby, that's fine and call me Camilla. I'm sure you'd like to go out with the boys, see some of your friends. It's bad enough that we're so far away from the city that you have to stay here all summer. Just work out the schedule together. I'm expecting great things." She finished her coffee and went upstairs to dress for some meeting.

"Wow, I get paid for doing this." He paraphrased Steve Martin's famous line.

"Hey, I've got a one o'clock tennis game, let's get cracking." I smacked him in the arm and he followed me into the study.

Bobby and I worked together every morning. We had a little routine. He'd come down to the kitchen and I'd cook breakfast for him. We'd outline the lessons and then we'd go to the study until noon.

As they got to know him, Peter and Greg became Bobby's friends. We all would take the Jeep and go to the village to see what was happening. Sometimes we'd just drive someplace and get clams. Bobby and I would sit in the back seat, bouncing around the countryside.

I'd go to the barn and ride my horse Jezebel, while Bobby waited patiently for me. Once I got him to ride, but I think that the idea of surrendering to the horse bothered him. I told him everything that I knew about horses. Being a lifelong horsewoman, it took awhile. What I liked about Bobby was that he paid rapt attention to me when I was telling him something interesting, and he found every subject interesting.

One evening we were at my friend Bitsy's birthday party. It was a huge pool party and I knew tons of people there. I danced with boys that I knew from school, or from the club or from other parties. During a set of slow songs I glanced over and saw Bobby sitting under a paper lantern watching me. I waved. He nodded, but didn't make any attempt to come over to join my friends.

I went to him, to see if he wanted to be introduced to some of the guests. He smiled and shook his head. He took me by the hand and we walked out onto the lawn away from the lights and music of the party. We were close to the water and I could hear it lapping at the shore. The air smelled of jasmine and salt. A gentle breeze caused the skirt of my dress to swirl around my bare legs. He lay down in the grass and patted the area next to him, inviting me to lie next to him.

The grass was cool next to my skin, which was electric from anticipation. I hoped that he wanted to kiss me. Frankly I wanted to kiss him more than I wanted to breathe. "So, it's a beautiful night..." He looked at me and put his finger to his lips. He took my hand and held it. I was amazed at how soft his hand was. Everything about Bobby surprised me. He was so different than anyone we knew and yet he fit in too. We must have stared at the night sky for two hours without speaking. I was mesmerized.

One day we were in the library finding something to pass the time until dinner. He fingered the spines of the books. Some leather, some paper. He pulled one down and handed it to me, "read this and you'll understand about me." It was a collection of John Donne's poems. I took it from him, determined to commit them all to memory. I then looked for my favorite book, _Very Good, Jeeves_, by P.G. Wodehouse. "Lighten up, Bobby." I smiled at him and tweaked his nose.

The few remaining days of that summer were spent feinting at each other without scoring a touch. Every day brought me to that moment when I knew that he would leave and I would never see him again.

Mother and I were going through my things, prior to my return to school. My mind wasn't on the task; it was impossible to focus. All I could think about was Bobby. How would I get through the day without him?

"Darling, have you thought about your escorts for your parties?" Mother sat folding my uniforms and cast-off clothing.

I sighed, the debutante thing was about to kick into high gear. I already had an appointment for choosing my dress at Bergdorf's the following month. "Escorts? I suppose Peter and Greg will do, maybe cousin Charles?" I really was at a loss; escorts were the last thing on my mind.

"Well certainly your brothers...Charles is out of the question." Mother felt that Charles was a bit too wild and unpredictable. "What about Bobby? You get along with him, and Mrs. Guest was saying that he told her the most amusing story at Cornelia's party last week."

I dropped the blouse I had been hanging up. I bent down and let out my breath, hoping that I didn't betray anything in my expression. "Bobby? That's a good idea. He's nice." It occurred to me that he might not have the wherewithal to dress the part, but I needn't have worried. Mother was a tiger for details.

"I like him too, he's a sensible young man. I'll speak to him and we'll arrange for him to have the things he needs. He can take you to the Junior Assemblies in December, so he can see what it's like. I think he'll be very handsome in a dinner suit."

She wasn't the only one who thought so.

In the fall we all returned to school. By some miracle Bobby had agreed to my mother's plan. I lamely explained to Bobby that we needed to get together in the city, so that I could tell him what to expect from the "Deb" experience. I don't think he believed me for a minute, but he said that he would call me. At the bottom of my trunk when I returned to school was the book of Donne's poems.

I heard Eloise call my name from the hall phone, "Cyyynnn-th-iiiiaaa!"

I ran out to claim the receiver and she whispered, soto voce, "it's a boy!" At our school getting a call from a boy was a big deal. I found myself with a small circle of eager girls, waiting to hear about a romantic intrigue.

"Hello?" I prayed that it was Bobby, and not my brother calling to ask what we should get mother for her birthday.

"Cynthia?" I'd know that voice anywhere, I sucked in my breath and stood on tiptoe. The girls in the hall started a quiet twitter.

"Bobby?" We might have gone on monosyllabically for an hour if we didn't have a five-minute time limit on phone calls. "It's great to hear from you."

"Cynthia, Peter suggested that I call you. I understand that you can get a pass for the day. We can come get you. How's Saturday?" I had planned to do research on my English paper on Saturday, but for Bobby, all bets were off. I could hear him shuffling as he fussed with the receiver waiting for my reply. I milked it for a few seconds.

"You and Peter? Um, okay. I can leave after breakfast on Saturday, around ten. You'll have to come to the Head Mistress's office though." I twirled the cord around my finger.

"Okay, Saturday then." He didn't hang up and he didn't say anything.

"Saturday." I waited too, I heard him breathe, I turned away from the group and tucked the phone into my collar, "I can't wait," I whispered.

"Me either," he whispered back. I thought my knees would buckle. "Good night Cynthia, sleep well." Again, he didn't hang up.

"Good night Bobby." I didn't want to hang up, I wanted to stand in the hallway of my dorm and listen to him breathe until Saturday.

Unfortunately the Proctor poked her head out of her room. "Miss White, free up the phone for someone else please!"

"I've got to go. I'll see you Saturday." I hung up, not waiting for his reply, knowing that they'd have to surgically remove the instrument from my hand if he said one more thing to me.

As soon as the receiver hit the cradle a squeal went around the girls in the hall. I gave a delighted jump and then became stricken, "Oh My God! What am I going to wear?" Instantly I was dragged into to rooms and having clothing forced upon me. I only had three days to prepare!

On Saturday I waited impatiently on one of the ancient wooden chairs in the office. Two other girls were waiting for their rides into the world. They were probably going to dentist appointments, or perhaps to the symphony. I was waiting for Bobby. I glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes past the hour. I worried my thumbnail, what if they didn't come for me after all? I was wearing my new favorite outfit, tight blue jeans, butterscotch colored Frye boots and a starched white cotton blouse. I had a problem deciding between my add-a-bead necklace and my shell earrings. I went with the necklace. The other girls both wore typical Saturday outfits of comfortable slacks and wrinkled shirts, probably from the previous day's uniform. In a girls school we never dressed to impress each other. As it was I had to run around to borrow enough make-up from my suitemates just to look decent. I mashed my lips together and felt the thick layer of Meadow Honey lip-gloss slide between them. I reached into the leather satchel that doubled as my purse and got a tissue to blot the excess goo.

"Don't bother, you look beautiful." His voice startled me; he seemed so adult, especially in the administration building of my school.

I blushed and smiled, I would have giggled, but I didn't want to give the other girls the satisfaction. I was a senior and I was going out with my college boyfriend. Or at least that's what I wanted them to think. That's what _I _wanted to think.

I signed out and promised to be back by ten that night. I had never before hated curfew with such virulence. We walked out into the sunshine of an Indian summer morning. Everything seemed so crisp, the air, the crunch of the leaves on the walkway, the way that Bobby walked toward my brother's Jeep. I expected to see Peter in the driver's seat, waiting to say something embarrassing, but he wasn't there.

Bobby smiled at me as he held the door open for me, "do you mind? Peter had to beg off at the last minute. He let me borrow his car."

Mind? Was he crazy? "No, it's great. So where are we going?"

"Everywhere." He started the engine and we backed out sending gravel flying.

I'll always remember the fall of 1981 like a montage in the movies. We'd listen to college radio, Elvis Costello, The Police, Blondie, Talking Heads, REM, all the best music. That Jeep still remains my all-time favorite vehicle. We drove into the mountains to picnic under trees. We drove along the coast, stopping to find smooth stones and shells. We drove into the city to the museums. We were two kids, falling in love and the only place we could go was the world.

Aside from our private time, there were the obligations. When a girl decides (or has it thrust upon her, as I did) to become a debutante, there are events and parties she must attend. Bobby told me the story of how my father took him to Brooks Brothers to be outfitted as my escort. I don't know how he dealt with the whole issue of letting someone buy him a wardrobe, but apparently my Dad gave him some kind of "guide for life" that revolved around ties and cuff links. I do know that whenever he came to pick me up, that he looked dreamy. I must admit though, I liked him best in an old shirt and his 501s.

It's customary for Debs to attend the balls the year prior to their coming out. I remember at the Junior Assemblies right before Christmas, that I couldn't wait to get him outside so that he could keep me warm. We left through a door off the ballroom and found ourselves in a small courtyard. I could still hear the orchestra faintly playing "Isn't it Romantic". I sipped champagne as he held me close. I wouldn't call it dancing, more like clinging to each other, even so he was light on his feet.

"So what excuse are we going to use after next year?" Although I was rarely intimidated by events in my life, I always weighed each word I said to Bobby. I feared that one wrong word might make him leave. Champagne made me bold enough to ask him what I wanted to know.

"Excuse?" I felt him shiver in the frosty air.

"I can't be a Deb forever. This time next year I'll have gone to my last cotillion. I'll be able to hang up my white dress and gloves and venture into the world as a regular young woman. I'll wear black and use too much kohl around my eyes. Will you still like me then, or is it the big, puffy dress that turns you on?"

He sighed, "This time next year?"

"Right, only 367 shopping days until Christmas 1982. I have my party in June, at the house, we'll have a tent. I've been invited to come out at the Junior Assembly, the Infirmary and the International. All of them are the week of Christmas next year. So..." I took another sip of my wine, "What will be our excuse after that?"

He stepped back and looked me in the eye; creating a frigid chill where our warmth had been, "I wish I could stay here forever, I do, but I have obligations."

"Obligations?" My idea of an obligation was a charity tea.

"I'm graduating next January, then I'm going into the Army. You know that I'm in the reserves?" He reminded me as though I were a child. I nodded, numb, with cold and disappointment. "They paid my tuition, I have to serve." He shrugged, indicating that it was a fixed point, one we could move around but not escape.

"So you're going away?" I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that there would be a natural time that we would separate, I didn't know that it was so close. Only a year, then he would be gone.

"Yes, I'm going away. I don't even know where yet. Besides, anything could happen in a year. By then you might be tired of me. You won't even call me to be your escort, you'll find some other guy. I'm sure there are tons of guys who'd love to go out with you." He smiled, to let me know that he still wanted to be with me.

My feelings were hurt, that's how young and shallow I was then. I didn't understand why he couldn't get out of it. Just pay the tuition back. "How can you think that I'd get tired of you...I.." I stopped myself. One thing that I had learned was never to wear my heart on my sleeve, not even my big, Princess Diana, taffeta, puffy sleeve.

"Me too." He hugged me into his dinner jacket. "Me too Cynthia."

From then on I spent my time with him counting the days, hours, minutes left remaining.

Bobby had a way of ingratiating himself with people. I remember after a party at the Plaza had ended a group of us were looking for somewhere to go. Studio 54 was passe and it was too early for eggs and pancakes. "I know a place, but it's not in the best part of town."

That piqued our interest, we didn't often stray out of our territory. Ian, Bitsy's date, headed for his car, "Lead on McDuff!"

"Just so you don't wake Duncan with thy knocking, some people have to work tomorrow." Bobby and I piled into the back seat of Ian's Karman Ghia.

The party was in Alphabet City, at the time a terrible part of town. We walked up three flights to get to the apartment where the party was. Music blared from speakers that were hanging from the ceiling and there was a small crowd congregated on the fire escape. We had the presence of mind to stop at the liquor store for reinforcements, so our unlikely crew was welcome. At first it was strange, a bunch of Debs and their preppy boyfriends at a loft party, but somehow it all worked. As usual, Bobby and I found a place to be alone, in the stairwell.

"Bobby, you know the nicest people. Are these friends of yours from school?" I leaned into him, trying to breathe in his warm, sweet smell, and not the mustiness of the hallway.

"Some are, one's my roommate." He rested his chin on my head.

"So this is where you live?" I tried to keep the horror out of my voice.

"Yes. Is it very gruesome?" He seemed to want my approval.

"No," I lied, "I'm sure it's lovely when it's not full of people drinking Purple Jesus punch and giving each other tattoos."

He smiled ruefully, "No, it's like this most of the time."

There wasn't anything that I could say. This was his life. He was a brilliant guy, he didn't have any money and he was doing whatever he could to survive. At that age you don't worry about money. When you have money, and let's be honest, when you have a lot of money, the fact that other people aren't similarly blessed comes as a shock. That was the first time that I felt the division between us. I was born wealthy and Bobby wasn't. I still loved him, for me it didn't change anything. But how did he feel about it? How did it change our relationship? Did he do things differently with me because I had a trust fund? I never worried that he was after my money, but now I was aware that other people might think that he was.

"Bobby, does it bother you that I'm such a frivolous idiot?" I gathered my skirt up under me, just in case there were creepy crawlies around.

He laughed, "No, I love that you're frivolous, and I've never thought that you were an idiot." He wrapped his arms around me. I felt so safe with him. "Does it bother you that I'm..." He couldn't finish his thought.

"You're perfect." I meant it. He was perfect for me. We may have come from different backgrounds, but at our core we were the same.

We had taken to exchanging "mix tapes", with both of us so reticent to actually talk about our feelings, we communicated with music.

After Christmas Break, I got a tape with "South Central Rain" on it. More of a mood setter than a statement. There was an afternoon that we had spent in the Jeep, watching the rain and cuddling in the back seat. Even now when I hear that song I remember the absolute happiness of that time. I hear the guitar into and I can smell him, feel him and hear him, just as though he were in the room with me.

I sent him one with "Accidents Will Happen" on it, mostly for the line, "_she says she can't go home, without a chaperone_." Although the song is about people who fall in love, and about a girl on a social whirl. I really thought I hit the nail on the head with that one, until I got "Don't Stand So Close to Me." Bobby won that round.

The one that brought him running was when I sent him "Thunder Road".

He called up for me from the foyer. I was studying for a French test, or rather procrastinating studying, which was very near the same thing in my world. I had my hair up in a scrunchie and I was wearing sweatpants and Peter's old Choat T-shirt. I was a mess. The proctor knocked on our door and told me I had a visitor.

I saw Bobby out in the quad. I threw my coat on and met him under the street lamp. His coat was pulled up around his neck and he was wearing a scarf up to his nose. "What on earth are you doing here?" I was delighted and confused.

"You sent me the tape. I wanted to talk to you about it." He looked so grim.

Truthfully I had forgotten where we were with the tapes. I was and am impulsive, I didn't really expect him to treat it like an emergency. I thought seriously about making love with Bobby very early on, I wondered what it would be like, I wondered if it would change my life. I had the romantic notion that we would make love and then we'd love each other forever. We might be separated, but we'd stay true to each other until be could be together again. I saw it as sealing our covenant of love. I was such a moron. I looked at him standing in the frozen quad and waited for him to explain. "Yes, I sent you the tape. What do you think?"

He paced a bit and rubbed the back of his neck, a move I learned meant that I had discommoded him. I smiled, I liked shaking him up. "I don't know."

"You don't know? Come on, you know." No matter how much he controlled our relationship, I knew that I was in charge now.

"Okay, I know. Of course, I want to..." He appealed to me.

"Come on you can say it, make love to me." I laughed at him, he seemed so serious. I felt happy when we were together, I just wanted to celebrate. I thought of sex with Bobby as an extension of that celebration. Like dancing with pure joy, or singing with delight.

"It's more than that, it's more than physical." He stood close to me and took both of my hands in his, "you know that I'm going away. I may not be able to call you or write to you. Things will change when you go to college, I don't want..." He dropped my hands and huffed in frustration.

"I know all of that!" I protested, he seemed to making a very big deal. "What are you afraid of?"

"Our relationship will change. It will get complicated. It won't be fun anymore. I'm afraid that I'll do something wrong and I'll hurt you. I can't get involved because I'm not going to stay here. You deserve someone who can make his life around you. I can't be that man. I have other things that I need to do. Cynthia, as much as I love you, I'm not giving up my future for you. I'm not going to lead you on, I'm not going to make love to you so that I can leave you later. I don't think that I could stand hurting you that way, I know I can't stand hurting myself that way."

As much as I loved him there were things about him that I might never understand. "Bobby, no matter what, even after you go, I'll still feel this way about you."

"I don't understand."

"The way I see it, when we make love, we'll just be moving to another level. I know that you're leaving. I understand that you aren't promising to come back to me. I don't want to tie you down, I don't want to trap you. I want to make beautiful memories. If you don't want to, I understand, but examine your motives. Are you really afraid of hurting me? Are you afraid of being hurt? I can't predict what will happen, or how I'll feel. Right now, I just want you. There's no reason, just love and desire." I hugged him in his sentinel stance. He refused to yield, standing rigid.

"Cynthia, you're not like any other girl." Finally he hugged me back, "I've got to consider everything. But hold that thought." He leaned in, and rather than the perfunctory kiss he usually gave me at the end of the evening, he kissed me deeply. Until that moment I had been innocent. The kissing that I had done with boys in the past was nothing like this. It was the difference between candlelight and lightening. I had a glimmer of understanding. We were playing with fire.

Eventually Bobby relented. About a month before graduation he came to get me. I remember the silence as we drove to his apartment. I was nervous, excited, scared and so in love with him. I studied his face in the passing streetlights. He looked so grim. "We don't have to if you don't want to". I didn't want to force him.

"Hmm? What?" He came out of his fog and looked at me as he drove. "Have you changed your mind?"

"No, but if you want to change yours..."

He didn't speak for a full minute, "I haven't changed my mind. I think you're right."

I smiled, "I like being right."

He laughed, "Cynthia, you are going to ruin me for other women."

"That was my plan all along." It was actually. Intellectually I knew that we weren't going to get married and have kids, but in the back of my mind I harbored a slender hope that some time in the future, he'd come back to me.

"I don't know if it's a good thing or not." His mood got lighter and I felt more comfortable with him.

"It's not. And there's a hitch, too." I bounced as we hit a pothole.

"A hitch? So this isn't a fully formed plan?"

"Yes it is, but it's a plan that involves a sacrifice. Not only are you ruined for other women, but I'm ruined for other men." I let him chew on that.

"What if it's true?" Always such a worrier.

"So what if it is?" I was naive, I had no idea that we were speaking the truth as it would come to be.

He shrugged, "I'm willing to take that risk."

We parked a few blocks away from his place. We walked hand in hand quietly through the desolate street. We got to his door and he gave me one last out, "It's not too late. I can take you back to school."

"Open the door." I commanded.

He unlocked the door and kicked it open, before I could move, he picked me up and carried me in and to his room in the back of his apartment. I tried to glean a look around. The filthy bachelor pad had morphed into a shabby but clean loft. The furniture may have been mismatched and the kitchen may have been installed at the turn of the century, but it was clean and tidy. It was also absent of dodgy roommates. "Where is..." I started to ask.

"Shhhh. He nudged his bedroom door open and slammed it shut. He kissed me as he placed me on the bed. As though he had choreographed it, he turned on the music, lit the candles, and dimmed the lights. Roxy Music cued up in the tape player and "More Than This" wafted through the room. He kissed my forehead, "I know that it's not champagne and strawberries at The Plaza..."

"No, " I replied, "it's better."

I think that there must be two categories of "first times". The usual, disappointing and shameful, and there is mine, brilliant and wonderful. Aside from the absolute bliss, I remember really looking at Bobby's room. He had a print of John Everett Millais's "Ophelia" on the wall by his dresser. If you don't know it, it's a rather morbid piece, but beautiful and peaceful at the same time. It features Ophelia, the "mad maiden" from Hamlet. It shows her floating in the water, surrounded by flowers and garlands. At first you think, _gosh, how lovely_, then you realize that this is her death, and it's sad and tragic. I turned away from it.

The sheets smelled of Downy fabric softener. They were plain white sheets and they had been bleached nearly phosphorescent. There was an old oak dresser that could have been an heirloom or found on the sidewalk on trash day. While the room showed no signs of disarray, his desk was another story. An attempt had been made to sort things into piles, and the piles were neat, but it was obvious that he'd never be able to find anything in all that neatness. The matchstick bamboo blinds on the window kept out the sunlight and probably an ugly view of a brick wall and the alley.

I looked over at him and he seemed to be drowsy. I couldn't understand it, my heart was pounding and my brain was swirling around with all sorts of random thoughts. Of course my first thought was, _how can I get some of this on a regular basis_. I was thinking about how we were going to arrange for another stint of Bobby as a houseguest over the summer. With my 1510 SAT scores, we'd need a better ruse than a live-in tutor. I thought about my graduation, how could I keep a straight face when Bobby and my parents were all brought back together. I was desperate to look at myself in a mirror to see if I could see an obvious physical change. I was about to get out of the bed when Bobby reached for me, "Lay down and rest. You think too much."

There was a parenthesis on my happiness, that was Bobby's graduation in January. But before that was my debut. It's weird about heavily anticipated events. It seems like you plan them forever and as they approach, time accelerates and before you know it the event is over and all that's left is writing the thank-you notes.

My graduation was held in the West Garden of my school. 82 of us walked in white gowns and mortar boards across the stage to Pomp and Circumstance. We had a small family celebration at 21, Bobby wore his blue suit that night and entertained us all with tales of his participation in psych experiments. I sat across from him at the table, watching him tease my younger brother Greg and joke around with my parents. It would be so natural for him to stay with us.

The photographs from my party in June look more like wedding pictures than debutante portraits. I've got the typical Bacharach formal sitting, with me in my white dress and gloves. That's the one on the piano in the front room at my mother's house. It took me years to put away the posed photo of Bobby and me at the base of the staircase at my mother's house. He's facing the camera with a photogenic smile and I've got my gloved hands on his chest and staring up at him with the most insipid look on my face.

Ultimately Bobby came to stay with us that summer. Father gave him an internship at his firm. I'd spend my days with my friends, or at teas, or at luncheons, or with other debutantes. My time was frittered away with beauty treatments, dress fittings and other amusements. Evenings Bobby and I showed up at all the right parties and events. We were charming, making sure to mix and mingle. I'm sure that people thought that Bobby was some distant cousin. I acted properly, as a well-bred girl should, never betraying a deeper relationship. Nights...we stole pleasure late, after the house had gone to bed. We'd sneak out and explore the grounds, and each other. In the mornings, I'd be asleep in my room and Bobby would be up with Father and on his way to a day of toil in the world of high finance. Poor thing.

In the fall I was packed off to college. It was familiar, living with other girls in a dorm, but I had the freedom to come and go as I pleased. Luckily Amtrak provided the transportation, so I could see Bobby on weekends.

I tried to savor the last bits of time we had together, but it was going so fast. I tried to imprint every moment in my memory. What song we listened to, what we ate, where we went, what he said to me. I wanted to memorize everything. I fantasized that if I were imprisoned somewhere, that I could pass my sentence happily remembering all of these details.

All too soon Christmas Vacation arrived. I was ensconced in my old room, with Bobby down the hall in what we had all learned to regard as his room. It was too cold outside to tryst on the grounds and I was too timid to attempt anything in my parents house.

I got an idea. We had gone into the city for the Junior Assembly. My father presented me there, we danced the silly dance and then we had the party. Cornelia had been the star of the season. People magazine had named her "Deb of the Year." Press swarmed the party. I had told my mother that I had plans to spend the night with a friend in town. I grabbed Bobby and in the commotion, we made our escape. He didn't know what to say when we pulled up in front of the hotel.

"What's this?" His confusion written on his face.

"Champagne and strawberries at The Plaza." I took his hand and led him through the lobby and to the room that I had rented earlier in the day.

Eventually Bobby graduated. There was no commencement ceremony. He just went to his last class and that was that. He was invited to the ceremony in May, but by then who knew where he'd be? I wanted to mark the occasion. I booked a table at the Russian Tea Room and I bought him a present. It wasn't as ostentatious as the Alfa Romeo my parents bought for my graduation/birthday present, but I thought it suited him.

We had finished our appetizer of caviar and cranberry vodka and I placed the thin box on the table.

"Ah, you got me a present." He tilted his head sideways to examine the wrapping. "Hermes?" He gave it the proper French pronunciation.

"It seemed appropriate." I shrugged. I had agonized over his present, and finally decided on this.

He carefully untied the bow and slid his fingers under the tape. He unwrapped the present with the same deliberation he gave to undressing me. It made me want him right there in the restaurant. Finally the paper gave way and he opened the box. A whiff of leather accompanied the removal of the lid. "Oh." He stared into the box admiring my choice.

"Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful." He traced a seam with his finger and then opened it, revealing the second present. "Oh," he exclaimed again. "This is too much."

"Well, you can't have a lovely portfolio like that and not have a pen to match." I smiled at him. "Good luck with your life Bobby."

He continued to touch his gifts. He took the cap off the pen and scribbled with a flourish on the pad of paper. "This is great. Really. I love it. Thank you." He reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

Later that week he left.

In the intervening years I had met other men and had other lovers, but my prediction had come to pass, I was ruined for other men. I don't think that it was so much that Bobby was so special, although that was part of it. I think that I had developed a standard from which I didn't dare deviate. When you've had a truly great love affair, every relationship you have after that suffers in comparison.

It's unfair really. I was at my most carefree that year or so. I had no responsibilities, no worries. I was on an adventure that was destined to end, but I was allowed to enjoy every minute of it. Once I became an adult, and I took on the mantle of adulthood, other influences come to play in relationships. I had a job, with its stresses. I had to live on my own, with all that entails. I had to pick up my dry cleaning, buy work clothes, go to the gym and get a baby present for Alissa's shower. You can't recapture that time in your life when all you have to do is live for the moment.

This all zipped through my mind as I regarded my former lover. Delight is a wholly inappropriate emotion with a corpse in the next room, but what the hell? He was dead and in life he was a real prick. "Bobby!" I jumped up and restrained myself from pouncing on him.

"Cynthia." He didn't even sound surprised, but he did seem pleased, "this is Detective Eames, Eames, this is Cynthia." I can understand why there wasn't more to the introduction. It could have been awkward. "We're going to examine the victim, can you wait, we're going to need some information." So professional. I was half tempted to watch him do his job. I wanted to see how he had turned out. Aside from being a police detective.

As they went into Wendell's office I heard Eames say, "So what's up with you and Cindy out there?" I heard the snap of latex gloves.

"Cynthia," he corrected, "her name is Cynthia, and she's an old friend."

I was pleased that he chose to put it that way. They bumped around his office for a while collecting microscopic particles and quarks for all I know. I tried to go back to my office to get some work done, but I was too antsy. I hate to admit this, but I think I was stunted in my emotional growth. Some days I have to remind myself that I'm not an eighteen-year old debutante, but a forty-year old woman. Although I look damn good for forty. I've kept my figure and I'm proud to say that it's all mine. I'm still coming to terms with the bifocals.

Finally they finished. They interviewed the staff. Apparently the murder occurred during our lunch hour, so the only one in the office at the time was Wendell. After it was ascertained that the junior staffers and the administrative assistants didn't know much of anything except that as always, Wendell had decided to dine in on his usual frozen dinner, no one had much to add. They were all dismissed and headed home, presumably with a dilly of an answer to the question, "so how was work?"

They saved me for last. Wendell was the director, but I was the brains of the outfit. Bobby circled around me, if I didn't know better I'd have thought he was trying to guess who my dressmaker was. "Everything as you remember?"

"Pretty much," he nodded, "do you know of any reason why someone would shoot Mr. Wallace? Did he have any enemies?"

I sat on the sofa in the reception area, my feet were killing me. "It's hard to say, he wasn't an easy man to get along with." I could be diplomatic, no sense in speaking ill of the dead. Besides, anything I said would be nothing more than speculation.

Eames sat down opposite me, I glanced down at her shoes, much more sensible than mine, but probably just as uncomfortable after a long day. "Has anything been different or strange in the past week or so?"

"We're economists in a think tank, our days thrive on the mundane. We eschew the different and strange, at least in our professional lives." I shrugged. I heard scratching and looked up, Bobby was taking notes, I couldn't help but smile. He smiled back self-consciously.

"Think ?" The Mont Blanc pen poised over the tablet in the Hermes portfolio.

"It depends, we are bi-partisan officially, but we do lean in that direction. In this office we concentrate on the infrastructure of third-world countries. Mr. Wallace specialized in roadways and transportation." I couldn't imagine anything more boring.

"And your specialty?" He was leaning over at a ninety degree angle, it was an exaggeration of what he had done years before. The whole thing was so strange. I still wanted to jump him.

"Telecommunications." I stifled a yawn. I wasn't tired, just bored. I wanted a drink, I wanted a drink with Bobby.

"Really?" He was unflatteringly incredulous.

"Yes." No more needed than that.

"Have there been any strange phone calls, any people who seemed out of place?" Eames re-phrased her earlier question.

"I don't know, I don't answer the phones. You could check the phone log, I'll print you out a copy." I walked over to the computer and soon the printer was churning out a month's worth of telephone records. "Do you need more than the past thirty days?"

"No, that should be fine." She sat back and gave Bobby a look.

So did I. He seemed uncomfortable. We all sat in silence, finally he spoke. "I guess that's it then. If you remember anything..."

"Yes, where should I call you?" Again, I smiled.

He reached into his coat pocket and gave me one of his cards. His thumb underlined his cell phone number. He transmitted his request through his eyes and I nodded. The coroner's office took poor Wendell away and gave me the name of a company that specialized in cleaning up crime scenes. I suspected that we'd all be working out of the UN for a day or two. Personally, I planned to telecommute. I gathered up my things and locked up. I was desperate for that drink. I dialed the number from the lobby. He answered right away and I saw him through the glass doors on the street.

"Cynthia, I can't believe that it's you." He swept me up in the hug I was aching for.

"Hell of a reunion." I mumbled into his neck, I swear he was wearing Eau d'Hadrian. God, he smelled good.

"Do you have time for a drink?" He asked, "We can catch up properly."

"I never thought you'd ask, let's go someplace quiet." I steered him towards 21.

We sat in a booth and gave each other the short version of the past twenty-some-odd years. I told him about my brothers, their wives and children. I told him about all of my friends, people that he knew. I told him about my parents. I waited for him to tell me something. I only found out about his job.

"But seriously Bobby, what have you been doing?" There had to be more to him than his badge.

Again with the head tilt. "I work. It's important."

"Okay, but what do you do for fun?" Haven't we been here before?

"Fun?" He had to think about it. He always had to think about it.

"You know, that thing you're supposed to do between work, sleep and more work." I held up my glass and indicated that another martini would be most welcome.

"My job is fun." He reached over and took my hand in both of his, they were still soft. "Do you still ride?"

"Of course. I do everything I've always done. I'm the one constant in New York, I'm the stereotypical dilettante socialite. The city would collapse without me. Bobby, let's get real here, unless you've been under a rock, you must read about me every so often. Don't tell me you've stopped reading the society page." I ate the olives off the little plastic sword and realized that I was hungry. "I want a hamburger." I motioned the waitress over and ordered one for each of us. "So why haven't you called?"

He coughed, or choked. "Call you?"

"You mean to tell me that it never occurred to you to look me up, not even some night when you were maudlin with drink? You're a detective, I know you could have found my number." I kicked off my shoes under the table.

"And said what? Hi, beautiful, wealthy socialite, I'm the blue collar slob you had a fling with when you were a Deb?" He finished his drink just as the waitress brought him a refill.

"Oh, I wish you had. You look great, are you doing as well as you seem?" All I wanted was for him to hold me, well that and the hamburger, I was starving.

"No." He sighed and pushed away his drink.

"I'm sorry. Is it anything a night with an old friend could cure?" I had three martinis and I was still looking for that burger, I started to feel courageous.

He laughed, finally. "Maybe."

It didn't take us long to eat dinner and take a cab to my apartment. I must have looked a sight to Julio, the night doorman. Bobby held my shoes and kept me steady as I weaved towards my door.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Ever the gentleman.

I kicked the door open and jumped into his arms, causing him to lose balance and drop my shoes in the foyer. "Carry me to bed." I commanded. "I'm bossy and used to getting my way."

Once we got to bed it was easy enough to just lay there and talk in the dark. I put some CDs in the changer and we listened to familiar music. We slept a little, here and there, but mostly we reveled in each other's presence.

In the morning he left to go to work. I called Mrs. Connor to make the appropriate arrangements and decided to take a mental health day. For the first time in years I have something wonderful to look forward to.

Bobby strolled into the squad room looking relaxed and happy. Eames felt compelled to look up at him as he put his things on the desk and offered her a Starbuck's coffee and scone. "You look chipper."

"Do I?" he hung up his coat and sat down to plan his day. "Has the M.E. got a preliminary report yet on Wallace?" He might as well get right to it.

Eames was still looking at him. "You haven't been home to change."

"I'll go at lunch. I want to get this squared away." He reached over for a new manila file and began to review his notes.

"Bobby, what's going on...wait a minute, does this have something to do with Cynthia?" She grinned at him, trying to get in on his secret.

High pitched ringing cut her short. He checked the caller ID, but didn't recognize the number, "Goren." Then his face went pale.

The voice on the phone was familiar, British, female. Nicole. "So, you've got a bounce in your step this morning. Don't say I never gave you anything. But remember, what I give...I can also take away."

"Nicole..." He whispered hoarsely into the phone, but she had gone. "Damn."


	2. What You Don't Know

I hate going to Washington. Everything about the place is miserable. I tapped the window impatiently as the cab inched along the Beltway. My phone rang. It took me a few seconds to dig it out of my bag and the taxi driver had the nerve to sigh in irritation. Too bad, my phone conversation would just have to interrupt his Swahili talk-radio show. "This is Cynthia White." I put on my professional voice.

"Cynthia where are you?" It was Craig, the Senior Director. Our meeting was to take place at eleven, with lunch to follow. It was ten-thirty and it looked like I was going to be late.

"I'm directly above the center of the earth. Where do you think I am? I'm stuck in traffic." My annoyance was growing with every minute spent in the cab. At least in New York there was a celebrity recording to tell you to buckle up, something diverting.

"Don't get your knickers in a knot, do I need to change the lunch reservation?" He seemed awfully concerned about lunch.

"Are you on Atkins again? I'll be there. Jeez, I don't know why we couldn't do this on a videoconference, you know I loathe this place." I especially resented having to wake up so darn early to make my plane. Commercial. I hate flying commercial.

"I like to see you in person. Call me when you get to M Street, I'll just meet you in the lobby."

"Fine, it looks like it's clearing about a half mile up. It shouldn't be that much longer. I'll see you in a bit." He was impatient about something.

After every imaginable bad taxi ride cliché, I was deposited in front of the building. As promised Craig was in the lobby, looking longingly at the display of candy bars at the newsstand. "There you are, finally! Is Morton's alright?"

Oh yeah, he was on Atkins. "Sure, I like their salad."

We got to the restaurant before the lunch rush and were escorted to a table in the back of the dining room. We ordered and Craig sent the breadbasket away. I sipped at my drink and waited for him to get around to the purpose of our meeting.

"I wanted to discuss the candidates for director of the New York office." He fidgeted with the saltshaker.

"You got me down here just to talk about that? Come on Craig, give me some credit." I stirred my ice around in my glass.

"You're too sharp for me," he smiled warmly, something he had to practice, "we've extended an offer to John Doubleday." He waited for me to explode.

"You're kidding." I rolled my eyes. John was a nice enough guy, but he had one good idea in 1987, and he hadn't quite recovered from it. Craig launched into a justification of their decision, but the lobster distracted me. At Morton's they don't have a menu, they have a cart with all of the ingredients on it. Among the head of lettuce, the Bermuda onion, the rib eye and the twelve-pound tenderloin, was a lobster. As is the rule at these places, he was alive. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied the lobster making a break for it. Craig extolled the virtues of John Doubleday's scholarship in the area of third-world highway development and I watched the lobster crawl up the aisle towards the maitre d's stand. The other restaurant patrons were oblivious to the crustacean and his escape. Just then a busboy looked down and saw him. He picked him up and was torn between putting him back on the cart or...something. "Why don't you give him a soak in some really hot water, to sterilize him?" I asked. I didn't really care what Craig was saying.

"Cynthia, did you hear what I just said?" Craig had missed the whole thing. As far as I was concerned, that episode made this trip worth it.

"Craig, what I heard is that we're doing business as usual. You've got a mediocre guy who's not ready to settle down to a teaching job at a state university. Fine, whomever you pick, I can deal with." The waiter brought our food and I played around with the lettuce.

"Okay, yes, we are doing business as usual. I just wanted to get someone in place before you left for Buenos Aires." He put a huge hunk of nearly raw meat in his mouth.

"Great, I'll turn him over to Mrs. Connor. So is that it then?" I acted more annoyed than I was. As long as they left me alone to do my work, I didn't care if they hired a monkey as the director.

"There's one other thing. Carson needs you to deliver this to the consulate." He pushed a fat envelope towards me.

I picked it up and put it in my briefcase. "The party?"

"Naturally." He looked like he wanted to lick his plate.

"Did it ever occur to anyone that I might not want to go to a party? What if I just wanted to soak in a bath, eat room service and talk to a guy on the phone?" I gestured with my fork for emphasis.

"Right. You not go to a party. You're a sport. I'll tell you what, I'll spare you the cab ride and I'll drive you to Dulles myself. See? It's not so bad. You know, I did get you out of having to attend the department heads meeting. You gotta love me for that." He smiled in benevolence.

I smiled back. "Sure, Craig." Just for that I flagged the waiter down and ordered chocolate cake for dessert. Then I only ate one bite.

As is usually the case, it took me longer to wrap things up at the office than I expected, so we hit all the rush hour traffic back to the airport. I was in the departure lounge and I had the weirdest feeling that I was being watched. I've been single in the city for too long to not pay attention to my intuition. I scanned the area. It wasn't the cute guy with "Le Monde". It wasn't the elderly couple debating the merits of frozen yogurt. I went through everyone in the area, mentally checking them off my list. My eye rested on a blond reading a novel. I did an experiment. I rummaged through my bag, pretending to look for something. I looked up through the hair that had fallen in my face and sure enough she was staring straight at me.

There are two things you can do in this situation. You can stew and worry about it, or you can beard the lion in his den. I got up and she pretended to read again. I approached her, "Uh, do we know each other? You look familiar to me."

She smiled up at me, "I think we met at a charity event." She was charmingly at a loss, "American Cancer Society? Heart Association?"

"Oh, that must be it then." I smiled and extended my hand, "I'm Cynthia White."

"I'm Elizabeth Haynes." We shook hands. "I was curious about your bag, it seems so handy, where did you get it?"

I looked back at my satchel. It was a Prada messenger bag, a present from a girlfriend. "It was a gift. I think that the Fifth Avenue store might still have it."

"Oh, right, I'll have to check it out." She seemed to want to engage me, but I got the impression that I had thrown her off her game.

It seemed important to keep the conversation going. I saw the book, "Oh hey, I've been meaning to read that, is it any good?" I actually had read it and it was vile.

She glanced down at her copy of "Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife" and smiled. "Well, it did get good reviews...but I don't see how." She said apologetically.

"Oh, then maybe I won't pick it up, there's no thief like a bad book." There was something really familiar about her, the more I spoke to her, the more uncomfortable I felt. For starters, her English accent was strange. Between school and my job, I had spent ten years in Britain, and had never run across anything that sounded like it. It had posh overtones, but it covered up either cockney or even an Australian origin. I surmised that she was trying to put on airs. Probably someone who "married up". I vaguely remember something about her on the news, but naturally I couldn't bring that up to her. I made a mental note to google her. I would have done it there at the airport, but I didn't want to seem obvious.

She shrugged and sheepishly said, "I guess I'll just have to suffer through the flight."

"Anything beats the in-flight magazine." They had started to board the flight and I wanted to get on before the space in the overhead was gone.

"Hey, are you going to the Black and White Ball?" It seemed an odd question, but I guess since we were making small talk about meeting each other at a charity event it wasn't that far out in left field.

"No, I'll be out of town I'm afraid." I smiled, not offering any other explanation, mostly because I didn't have one except that I just didn't feel like it.

"Oh, too bad, I don't know all that many people in New York, except for my husband's friends..." she seemed disappointed, "I don't suppose you'd like to get together for a cup of coffee?" She had a sadness about her that I hadn't noticed before.

"Sure." I smiled and found one of my business cards for her, "Just call my secretary, she'll put it on my schedule."

We both gathered our things and queued up for the flight. I hoped that I wasn't going to have to hurt her feelings but I couldn't spend the flight talking Town and Country with her. I had a report to proofread and if I didn't get it done before I got to La Guardia, I'd have to look it over on my own time. Luckily she took her seat three rows behind me and opened her book.

My friend Cecily had a term for girls like Elizabeth, "broken wing". There are people who collect "broken wings". These are the needy people, the ones you meet on the fringes of parties. So you take them in, nurse them, and one day you expect that they'll fly on their own. In my experience though "broken wings" just become more needy. I figured I could meet her for coffee one day and just become super-busy after that.

The flight home was uneventful and Elizabeth went on her merry way. I didn't see her as I rushed through the airport towards the taxi stand. I wanted to be home and in the tub by seven.

Luckily the traffic on the LIE wasn't that bad heading into the city. I dropped everything on the floor and shed my suit as I made my way to the bathroom. My bare feet slapped on the cool marble and I started the tub. I turned on the sound system and cued up my favorite station. Jasmine perfumed the room and Joy Division played in the background. Later I'd have to check my e-mail and decide what to pack for Argentina, but right now, I was letting Calgon take me away.

The phone rang and I debated about whether or not to answer. There was only one person I was in the mood to talk to and that was Bobby. I checked the caller ID and smiled. It was him. I turned the whirlpool off and the music down.

"Hello, handsome." It was impossible to be coy in the era of technology.

"Cynthia, it's Bobby." I couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

"Yes, I know. " I dropped my loofa and started to fish around for it in the tub.

"Oh. Right. Are you in the kitchen?"

"Tub. So what can I do for you?" I scrubbed my elbows.

"Ah..." he seemed to be at a loss for words.

"So I guess you're not going to ask me what I'm wearing. Good. We got that out of the way. I'll start. My trip to Washington was lovely, I'm very happy to be home. And how was your day?" I reclined and rested my head on the terrycloth pillow.

"Not bad. I was just on my way home and I was thinking, or wondering, if you were hungry." It sounded like he was on the street.

I thought about it, as a matter of fact I was hungry. "I could eat, what did you have in mind?" Frankly if it involved leaving the tub, it would have to be an appealing offer.

"I don't know, Chinese, Italian?"

"How about Brazilian?" Suddenly I had a wicked craving.

"Brazilian?" I could hear the wheels turning in his head, "okay, I'll bite where do we get Brazilian?"

"Is it a problem for you to come uptown?" His job is pretty much at the ass-end of where I live.

"No, that's fine, I was planning on picking you up anyway."

"Good, then let's stay in, I'll order it." I leaned over and turned on the hot water tap.

"The Brazilian place delivers?" It sounded like he was getting in a cab, "just a sec." He gave the driver my address. "Okay, I'm back."

"Yup, they deliver. What do you want?" I looked around the bathroom assessing what needed to be hidden before he arrived.

"I have no idea, surprise me." I heard the Chris Rock recording in the background and smiled to myself. Civilized.

"Okay, bull's testicles it is. Hang up so that I can call the order in. I'll see you when you get here." I called the restaurant and ordered the food. I was stumped as to what to change into and what to do with my face. He knows that I was in the bath, so coming to the door with a full face of make up and in heels and stockings would be ridiculous. I wasn't anywhere near comfortable with a bare face, hair in a ponytail and old sweats. Not by a long shot. I wish I could be like other women, the kind who shop for every contingency and have outfits pressed and ready at a moment's notice.

I put a light moisturizer on my face. It had a sheen to it, giving me a glow. I put a hint of color on my cheeks and dabbed a bit of gloss on my lips. For just a second I wished that I still had the cinnamon roll-on lip-gloss I loved in high school, although it burned a bit when my lips were chapped. Face taken care of, I went into the closet to get something to wear.

I went through every hanger. A peignoir was out of the question. I flipped through again, I knew that there was something...my eye fell on my gym bag, packed and ready, should I take it into my head to go to Pilates. Perfect! I threw my yoga pants and tight T-shirt on. My ass looked toned and my boobs looked perky. A short, cardigan sweater kept me from looking like I was in a fitness video. I had just enough time to fluff my hair before the doorman called up.

If you ever have an occasion to wonder if paying extra for a building with a doorman is worth it, take it from me, it is. The doorman takes in your packages, holds the door for you and gives you a two-minute warning before your guest arrives. Tip him well at Christmas because this is a public service.

I waited at the door. He knew that I knew that he was on the way up, so why pretend? I saw him as he got off the elevator. It looked like he went home to change his clothes; he was in jeans and a long sleeved polo. On a big, tall guy, simple stuff looks the best.

I invited him in and went to the fridge for beverages. "What'll you have?" I called out as he tried to figure out the remote.

"What are my choices?" He held up the module. "Whose is this? Captain Kirk's?"

"Hey, don't mess with that, I've got it programmed. I've got Heineken, soda, tonic, orange juice and a decently stocked bar. Oh, I've got a big can of Guinness, if you want that." I called out to him.

"What's the blue bottle back there?" He pointed into the fridge.

"Oh, a joke, Pocari Sweat." I really didn't want to explain how I came to have a Korean sports beverage in my refrigerator.

"Too bad we're not having bul-go-gi. That might go well. I'll start with a soda for now." I poured him a soda and gave him a lime wedge. I settled for a vodka and soda. I like a little kick in my beverages.

General Public came on the radio and I laughed, "Gosh, I haven't heard this song in ages." I started shaking my ass a bit, mostly just keeping time with the music.

"Wow, that takes me back. I remember exactly where I was when this song was popular." His eyes drifted for a minute and he time traveled.

"Me first, I was in my sophomore year and I was getting ready for a frat party with my sorority sisters, where were you?" I continued to wiggle around to the beat.

He looked like he was stalling for time, "Ah...something very similar."

"Seriously, I know you were in the army, so where were you?" I refilled my glass from the faucet in the fridge door.

"Arizona, I was stationed at a post in Arizona. A big night on the town was going to watch the tumbleweeds blow down Main Street." The doorman called to let us know that our food had arrived. Bobby looked relieved.

I got busy unpacking the containers. Yellow rice, sautéed spinach and the best part, Frango. When I first started ordering food from this place I had no idea what to order, so the lady suggested Frango. I thought that was the name of the dish until I went to Brazil and learned that Frango is just the word for chicken. All I know about the dish is that it has beer, coconut milk, peppers, palm oil, seasonings and probably heroin. I mean, it's hard for me to go a week without this stuff.

I filled our plates and Bobby watched as I arranged it. "That smells good."

We ate dinner quietly. It's easy to take a relationship for granted when you've known someone for a long time. But we were away from each other for ten times longer than we were together. There was no way to feel entirely comfortable. We couldn't pick up where we left off, as much as we might have wanted to.

I think everyone has a friend who is constantly falling love. Every single time she thinks she's finally found her soul mate. It happens on vacation or a business trip, some place where she has an excuse for sleeping with the guy right way. But she wasn't being a slut, no; it was like "Some Enchanted Evening". So she comes home, flushed with hot sex and what she thinks is new love. She calls him at work three or four times a day, just to talk. She moons around the card aisle at the drugstore picking out romantic cards just for him. She makes plans to visit him in whatever city he lives in, since she never does find a guy who is in the same area. Within days the guy isn't returning her phone calls and she's a wreck trying to figure out what went wrong.

What went wrong is that she assumed an intimacy that wasn't there. Bobby and I were in the same boat. We knew each other, we had been lovers, but we didn't know each other. It was like the past didn't matter, we had to reconstruct it all over again. So we made small talk.

I told him about the lobster at lunch. He told some about something funny his partner had done at work. He seemed tired. It was Friday night. "I'm sorry I'm not much fun." He wiped his eyes.

"I wasn't looking for entertainment. I like your company. I do feel that you're not telling me something though." He seemed pre-occupied, worried about something.

"You know how it is, cases." He gestured with his hands.

I nodded, but I didn't know. He couldn't very well discuss cases with me, for all I know I might be a suspect in my previous boss's murder. What I understood was that some things you don't share, not even with your closest family members, and certainly not with old flames. Lord knows we all have secrets.

"Let's watch an old movie, that will take your mind off of your everyday troubles." I jumped up from the sofa and opened the cabinet. "I know that it's a bit of a busman's holiday, but do you want to watch 'The Thin Man'?" I held up the case.

"Sure." I couldn't tell if he was genuinely interested, humoring me or just too tired to care.

I put the disk in and the movie started. Within the first five minutes I was transported. I love old movies where the leading ladies wear beautiful clothes, say smart things and don't let men push them around. You couldn't pick a better role model than Myrna Loy as Nora Charles. After about twenty minutes I remembered something about the story. Nick Charles is a detective who marries an heiress. Oops.

I must have had a look on my face because I heard Bobby laughing at me. "How could you forget that?"

I shoved him with my foot. "I've had a long day."

"So, other than that, what is it that you like about this movie?" He leaned in for my answer.

I pondered it for a minute. "I love the language, the expressions, the accents. I mean listen to William Powell, that's not a California or a New York accent. It's something else. Over-cultured. Then there are the character actors, the way they say things. I like the music, it's incidental, but you hear swing and old standards. The sets, the costumes, even the dinner party at the end." I sighed, it was elegant and something we could never recapture in this millennium.

"I hear what you're saying. Listen, " he leaned in to whisper something in my ear, "I understand why this movie sounds so good to you." Then he touched my arm, to make his point.

"Bobby Goren, are you using schoolboy neuro-linguistic programming on me?" I mean come on, I expected him to be slick.

He sat back, startled with a 'who me?' look on his face. He relaxed and smiled, "caught me."

"Well, Duh."

"Come here," he patted the sofa next to him. I gave him a look. "I promise, no funny stuff."

I scooted over towards him and let him wrap his arms around me. "You always did better with the quiet stuff." I probably shocked him with that one; I think he fancied himself as possessing the gift of gab.

"Hmm." He held me tight and turned his attention to the movie, laughing heartily at Gilbert's pseudo-psychological babble.

It got late and I wanted to sleep but Bobby didn't seem all that interested in going home. I wasn't sure it was such a great idea for him to stay over, but he seemed so wiped out that I hated to send him off into the night.

I figured that if all we did was sleep that it wouldn't be a problem. My only issue is that I think sleeping together can be more romantic than sex. He fell asleep quickly and even asleep he seemed tense. It took me longer. I was distracted by this big man in my bed. His breathing fascinated me. I felt like I was responsible for him, for keeping him safe while he was with me.

As exhausted as I was, I couldn't sleep. I'm used to complete quiet and stillness. I've lived on my own so long that I've become spoiled; I can't sleep with other people. I confirmed that he was well and truly out of it, then I went into the guest room. Here's another life tip, always buy good beds for every room of your house, you may sleep in them some day. As I settled into the bed, I thought about what I wanted from Bobby. I tried to imagine him as something more than a friend. That wigged me out. I couldn't imagine being one of those wives, sitting home, praying for the safe return of their husbands. I wondered if he'd worry about me when I was away for work. All I could think of was that as a couple that we'd spend all of our time worrying about each other. I wanted to think of something light, easy. I could ponder the deeper questions later. I rolled the question around in my mind and then I hit on it, I'd take him out to my parents for the weekend. I wiggled my toes in excitement; Mother would be thrilled to see him.

I woke up to see Bobby sitting at the foot of the bed. "Did I snore?"

I pulled the covers up. "No...I don't know, I just needed some room to move around."

He gave me a look and then he started to tilt his head. Bobby is extremely visual. He takes in information through his eyes. I know why he changes his perception on the job, but I wondered what it was he was trying to see with me.

"Should we go out to breakfast?" He jumped up and clapped his hands, breaking the trance.

"Huh? No. I'll make something. I don't want to get dressed just yet. If that's okay." I yawned and stretched. Then I realized that I needed to brush my teeth. I directed Bobby to the guest bathroom, where a fine assortment of miniature toiletries awaited him and went to my bathroom to shower and dress. I jumped into some jeans and met him in the kitchen. I put on the coffee and popped in the toast. "I have an idea." I beat some eggs for an omelet.

"Oh?" He seemed concerned.

"Want to go out to see my folks?"

He sighed, "Do you want me to?"

"Not if you don't want to...I thought it would be something to do. I've got to pack for Monday, other than that I have no plans for the weekend. My only problem is that I'm blowing off a big party and it would be better if I weren't in town." It didn't matter if he didn't want to come with me; I was going.

"Sure, why not?" He frowned.

"Hey, you don't have to if you don't want to."

He smiled, "No, I'd love it. I was just thinking about something else."

After we ate he sat on the bed while I packed for my business trip.

"So you'll wear all of that within four days?" He fingered the lace hem of one of my party dresses.

"And I'm packing light. It's worse when I go to London, that's a mad social whirl." I started on my weekend case. "It's fun though. I have friends all over the world."

Finally, I was finished. He helped me down to the garage where I kept my car. I shoved everything into the trunk, and we headed over to his place so that he could grab a few things.

I decided to speed up to my parents' house. My latest car is a BMW M3, a souped up coupe. I jammed it into gear and we took off like a rocket. I figured that if I got stopped that Bobby could talk me out of a ticket.

I turned on the satellite radio and tuned in my favorite station. It was a perfect day. Crisp and cool, the air whipped in through the moon roof and I felt totally alive. I nudged the speed up to ninety and glanced over at Bobby, who was hanging on, trying to look nonchalant.

"You okay?" I asked as he gripped the armrest.

"I'll be fine." He smiled at me.

I eased up on the gas; we'd get there soon enough, no need to terrorize the poor man. "Mother is going to freak when she sees you."

"Oh? Why?" He stared straight at me, I felt rude keeping my eyes on the road and not on him.

"She always liked you. If you had stayed in touch, you would have been the extra man at all of her parties. I'll bet that she gets you to tell her all about your cases." It was getting cold in the car and I was debating about closing the roof or putting a sweater on. Let's just say that it was an issue of modesty.

Bobby handed me my cardigan and I blushed, which caused him to blush. "Do you want this?"

I nodded and wrapped it around my shoulders. I reached over and activated the integrated phone. After two rings mother picked up. "Hi Mother, it's Cynthia. I probably should have called before I left, but I'm coming to visit, if it's not too much of a bother."

"Of course not, we'd love to see you. I assume that you're en route?"

"We're about forty minutes away." I winked at Bobby.

"I should be dressed by then." I waited for her to snap at the bait. "We? Who's with you dear?"

"Hello Mrs. White, how are you? It's Bobby Goren." He was too polite to try and make her guess.

"Bobby, how nice! We'll certainly have some catching up to do. Cynthia, drive safely and I'll see you soon." She hung up, probably in a mad dash to make herself "presentable."

"I told you, she's thrilled." I turned the music up.

"Okay, so what do I tell her?" He looked out the window at the scenery. Long Island is very different from the five boroughs of New York. When you think of New York City, you probably think of skyscrapers, brownstones, row houses and store fronts with signs in foreign languages. Long Island is different, considering its proximity to The City, it has a suburban vibe. Fifty years ago, when my parents bought the house, it was considered rural. But a half a century has its effects on real estate.

I took my eyes off the road for a second to see what he saw, and then I remembered that I would never see what he saw, that was his genius. I thought about it, "I guess tell her the truth, or a version of the truth you think she'd enjoy. She likes to hear about interesting characters, I'm sure you meet a few of those in your line of work."

"Just last week I met a globe-trotting economist." He floated that one across.

I let it sit there for a minute, "really? How boring. All those figures."

"Funny thing is that I once tutored this economist in mathematics." He smiled charmingly, and wholly unconvincingly.

"No kidding. You must be a great tutor." Lobbed it right back to him.

"Maybe, but how is it that I learned more than I taught?" He rubbed my hand as it rested on the gear stick.

I didn't know what to make of that statement. "Really? Aside from social smoking and the twist, what did you learn?"

"Don 't discount social smoking, that's a valuable skill."

"What about the twist?" For some reason I did not want to have a deep conversation with him. It would be like admitting that you were in love on the second date. You just don't.

"The twist, not valuable, but fun. So what don't you want to talk about?" He peered into my face, as I assiduously avoided meeting his gaze.

"Politics, religion, money. The usual." I tried to keep it light.

"Oh. What about sex?" He watched as I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, "that's usually on the list, isn't it?"

He was fishing for something, but I wasn't going to play along, "No, I like to talk about sex. What would you like to know?" I smiled. The sweet, innocent smile.

He laughed, "Hoo, I'm glad you're on my side."

"Damn straight, you don't want me as an enemy."

"Your enemies never see it coming, do they?" I was beginning to think that Bobby never wasted a conversation.

I shrugged, "how would I know? I don't have any enemies. Oh hey, I have an idea. Let's play the radio game." I didn't even try to be coy about changing the subject. If he wanted to know something, he could just come right out and ask me.

"Radio game?"

"We battle it out to see who can name the tune and artist first. I'll go first, Buzzcocks, Ever Falling in Love." I sang along with the song.

"You're better than I am at this." He forfeited. What a cheat.

"Probably, but you've got to put up a fight, otherwise it's not fun." Now I couldn't get the image of the two of us wrestling out of my head. I missed having a boyfriend. Until this moment I didn't know how much I missed having _him _for a boyfriend.

"Don't edit it, tell me, off the top of your head, right now, what are you thinking?" He shifted in the seat 90 degrees to face me as I drove.

I licked my lips and stalled, "I decline to tell you."

"Coward." He seemed disappointed.

"Fine, you go first." I leaned into the curve and accelerated.

"Ah," I glanced over and caught his eye, "okay, I'll admit it. I was just thinking about the two of us in my old apartment. It's a good memory."

"Yeah, I'm glad about that. I'll tell you what, instead of my telling you what I'm thinking about; I'll admit something really humiliating. Oh, and that's The Cure, In Between Days." I worked in the Radio Game.

"So what's humiliating?" He looked at me tenderly; I had the creepy feeling that he was reading my mind.

"Oh nearly everything that I did until I was about twenty-five, but the particular thing I had in mind to tell you was that when I was alone, I would play Spandau Ballet's 'Only When You Leave', over and over and over. Remember that was on tape back then, so I'd rewind and play and rewind and play. Oh, and I'd sing along and weep. How's that?" My exit was about five miles away so I started moving over.

"How much of your life is wrapped up in music?" He was smiling, but I think he understood what I was saying.

"My life has a soundtrack. I prefer the music I listened to when I was happiest, but nearly every song has a memory associated with it, good or bad. Bobby, what music is on your soundtrack?" I got off at the old exit, driving through streets that I've known my whole life.

"Wow, this has changed a lot since the last time I was here." He gawked as we drove past a huge gas station/mini mart. "Music? I like blues and old rock and roll mostly."

"How do you feel listening to all of this old music?" I started down the road towards my house; we were only a few minutes away.

"Happy. Sad. How do you feel?" He rolled down the window and stuck his head out.

I had to think about it. The punk/synth/new wave of the early eighties was the music I preferred. I loved the melodies, the lyrics, and the rhythms. Some of it is so lush and romantic. Why did I love it so much? What did I feel when I listened to it? "When I listen to it, I'm in love with you all over again Bobby Goren. I'm young and the world is full of possibilities. This music makes me feel giddy, empowered, loved and reckless. I lost so much when I lost you that I had to find something big to fill the hole. It could have been drugs or alcohol, I guess I was lucky...We're here!" I parked in the driveway and got out before he could say anything. What could he say? What did _I_ just say?

"Are you going to drop a bomb like that and pretend..." His eyes had widened and he had the look of a child who had pushed something too far and had broken it.

My mother appeared at the door and our conversation was officially over, at least as far as I was concerned. The song in my head was "I Confess" by The English Beat.

We spent the afternoon chatting with my parents. I had forgotten that one summer Bobby had worked with my Dad, so they went off to the library to look at something that was of mutual interest to them. At least Bobby seemed interested. He is as much a social chameleon as I am. Mother took the opportunity for a tête-à-tête.

"Cynthia, what a nice surprise seeing Bobby again. He's such a handsome man, and so bright." She glanced outside at the wind blowing through the garden. "Oh, I think we're getting a cold front coming in. I made reservations at the old Inn for dinner."

"That sounds nice." I liked that place. I could sit at the window close to the fireplace; on a blustery evening they'd have a fire. "Actually that sounds perfect."

"So it's rather a coincidence you're running into him like you did." She picked up one of her thousands of glass paperweights, "come look at this one, it's unusual."

It looked like every other paperweight she owned but I made noises about how beautiful it was. "You know Mother, I feel terrible about Wendell dying, but I am glad that I reconnected with Bobby. I think he understands...us." What I meant was that it was nice to see him again, as a friend.

"Dear, you've been single too long. You've grown set in your ways. At least with Bobby you don't have to explain yourself. You could do worse." She moved over and started picking at the flower arrangement. Trust my mother to misinterpret my meaning.

"I haven't seen him for two decades. I've spent less than twelve hours with him since then. What exactly do you think is going to happen?" I followed her around feeling like I was sixteen again.

She sat down on the divan and patted the cushion next to her; "all I'm saying is to stay open to the possibility."

I wanted a drink. That's the problem with mothers; they constantly look for ways to get you coupled up. I would have thought that my debut was enough of a big party with a white dress for her. Did she really think that I was going to have some society wedding at my age? I think that once I was on the high side of thirty-five that she would have focused her attention on my nieces. Okay, and why was I immediately thinking about weddings? It's a sickness, one I was not usually a casualty of.

I sighed, sometimes you've just got to go with the flow, "Mother, Bobby is a very nice man. How about I let him take me on a second date before you start haunting Tiffany's?"

"Don't be ridiculous Cynthia, all I'm saying is..." she stopped short because the men folk were returning from whatever they were doing on the other side of the house. "Oh, here you are. I think the sun's over the yardarm, David, why don't you make some martinis?"

"Right then." He got up and went to the bar. He handed the ice bucket to Bobby, "you remember where we keep the ice?"

"Sure, the freezer. Right?" he smiled and my father laughed. That was unnerving. My father and Bobby had private jokes.

"I'll come with you. To get the olives." I followed him to the kitchen. He opened the freezer and filled the bucket. "So what did you guys talk about?"

"You." He looked between the icemaker and the bucket, "is this enough?"

"It was just a ruse anyway, he wants to tell Mother something. It's fine." I picked up a small cube and put it in my mouth. "So what did you say about me?"

"It's impolite to talk with your mouth full," he replied. He gave me a smug look, as though he knew a secret and he wasn't letting me in on it.

I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. I let my cold tongue slide into his hot mouth. For just a second I let myself imagine what it would be like to have him. To feel him near me everyday. What would it be like to be gathered into the safety of his embrace? But then I came to my senses; we were a long way from that. Maybe we could never go there. "Fine, don't tell me then." I took the jar of olives and walked back to help my dad with the drinks.

"Don't go away mad." He called from the kitchen. I heard him fooling with ice. Then he was right behind me. I knew because the hairs on my neck stood up. Oh, I wanted him right then. There are men in this world that wake up every single hormone you have. Bobby was like that. If he was in the room I couldn't ignore him.

"Thanks Kitten," my dad took the olives from me, "you like three olives don't you?"

"I like all of the olives, but three sounds like a good number to start with." I watched him mix the drinks. He was a showman. First icing each glass, then swirling the shaker, finally straining the liquid into the frosty glasses.

My parents and I reached for the cocktails as though we were at a desert oasis. Bobby held his up in a toast. "To old friends."

We stopped long enough to toast back and then took long sips of the elixir. I glanced at Bobby over the rim of my glass, he returned a meaningful look. It was a situation where one of us was going to have to blink first.

Dad drove us to the old Inn. It was an old stone house that had been converted into a restaurant. It was situated near the pier with a view overlooking the water. I had put a wooly sweater on over my turtleneck against the cold that set in after sundown. As an adult its weird sitting in the backseat of your parents' car, especially with a man you plan to do wicked things to. It's nearly impossible to have impure thoughts with Mummy and Daddy driving you to the place you had your debutante tea. I managed it though; most likely they were fueled by Bobby's fingers brushing against mine as we glided through the winding Long Island roads along the water.

The fire flickered and the candles reflected in the windows of the Inn. Bobby entertained my parents with stories about his years as a vice cop. I sipped my cabernet and watched him. His face expressed everything. He impersonated people he had met. I felt removed from everyone else. I didn't pay attention to what he was saying; I was too busy watching him. I didn't know him at all. I knew the Bobby from over twenty years ago. It occurred to me that I hadn't been loving Bobby, but loving my memory of him. Damn, and it was such a good memory.

I tried to come back into the moment, but to be honest, I was a bit tipsy. On the ride home I thought about Bobby. I wondered if he was as stupid as I had been, did he love the memory of me when I was young, innocent and naive? I felt as if I had aged a lifetime since then, in a way I had.

It was late and we all headed to our respective rooms. I was in the room I grew up in. It had been redecorated eons ago but it still felt like my room. I pulled out the book I brought to read and opened the pages. I couldn't concentrate though, I kept thinking about Bobby. I became thirsty and thought about getting a drink of water when I heard a quiet tap at my door.

"I hope you haven't..." he looked at me, still fully clothed.

"No, I couldn't..."

"Me either. Is it too cold to go for a walk?" His eyes were so dark and mysterious.

"It is, but I will anyway." We walked out through the mudroom, grabbing coats from the hooks.

It was dark, with just a sliver of the moon in the sky. I hadn't seen so many stars since I was a little girl. We walked a bit in the garden, Bobby reached for my hand, "I wanted to follow up what you had said this afternoon."

I shivered; it was so cold that the lights had halos around them. "Let's go to my car." He followed me and we got in the back seat. I put the key in the ignition and turned it so that we could have radio and seat warmers. He reached around me and pulled me close to him. "So what exactly did I say that bothered you?"

He nuzzled my hair, "I don't know that it bothered me, I was just curious. You said that you were in love with me and I wanted to know more about it."

"You know, Camus said that if he loved someone that it was his business." I don't know why I said that.

"True. But will you tell me anyway?" His voice was soft, low, seductive and irresistible.

I sighed, "You know it seems that I'm the only one around here admitting things. I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours."

"Oh." He paused and if he was anything like he was years ago, he was weighing the offer. "So you want the cards on the table do you?"

"There's a better place?"

"Fair enough. Cynthia, I haven't had a long-term relationship in years. Even in the past, the women I've known just don't seem to understand me. I guess I feel comfortable with you." He looked at me, "your turn."

"Bobby, I loved you so much twenty years ago. I knew then that I would always love you. You were my first love and you were my best love, if that makes any sense." He nodded, "I don't know if what I feel for you is the remnants of that or if it's an ember that can be fanned back into a fire. The past week I've had fun feeling like I was eighteen again. I might have doodled your name in my notebook. But I have to accept it, I'm a grown woman and I have built a life without you. I want us to have a chance but I'm scared to death that we'll mess up the loveliest memory I have. What if we blow it and somehow we hate each other? Then this love that I've had for you for all these years will have been a waste..." I had to catch my breath, I felt near tears and _where _did this all come from? "Did you love me back then? Did you love me over the years?"

He had to think, he was a guy who weighed his words carefully, "I think that I did. I...had so many issues. My mom, taking care of everything, school. I felt like I was holding all of that together. Then you and your family came along and introduced me to things in life I only read about in books. You all took it for granted and I liked that about you. You claimed what was yours in the world. I was so serious and you were like a pixie in my life. You taunted me and teased me and made me laugh. You gave me a piece of myself I didn't even know was missing. When I went into the Army I knew that I had to put everything behind me. I had to think only in the moment. Every time I thought about you, I'd do something to take my mind off of it. Finally I could go days, weeks, months and years and not think of you. I thought that this was a good thing. I could move on. Except that I'm still alone. I don't think that I'm able to..." He didn't finish, but he looked at me, waiting for me to save him.

What a mess, we were both emotional cripples. "So what do you want?"

"What do you want?" He countered.

"You went first the last time. I want to make love to you right here. I want to believe that you and I can be happy together. I want to know that some nights I can slob around the house in sweats and you'll be somewhere with friends and that I don't have to think about you every minute of every day. I still want my own space. I want everything in my life to stay the same forever, but I don't ever want to be bored. I want you today and maybe tomorrow and I'm willing to risk the memories of yesterday." I kissed his hand, and then I licked it.

"Hey." He pulled away from me. I sat up. Suddenly it seemed stifling hot in the car. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. It's a reflex. I have a buffer zone. I know that everyone else loses control, but I can't. I'm feeling like this emotion is taking me somewhere my brain has never been. I naturally fight that. I am in control of everything. I play other people, but I never get played."

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You can't control everything. Bobby, if you want, we'll end this here. We'll go back in the house and tomorrow I'll take you home and that will be the end of it. I'll be sad, but I'll get over it. I've lived this long without you and if that's how it's meant to be then I guess I can accept it. But I'll lose all respect for you if you're turning me down out of fear." I gave him a very cold, steely gaze, the kind that makes weak men squirm.

"I'm afraid, of course I am." He gripped my hand, "I'm afraid for you. You could get hurt because of who I am and what I do. Someone can have power over me because of what they could do to you. __If I allowed myself to love you, the way you deserve to be loved, I would be at the mercy of my enemies."

I sat up, I had a few drinks, but it was all starting to make sense. "Has someone threatened me? Is that why you're here? Oh my God, I feel like such a fool." Now I cried, mostly out of anger and frustration.

"Shit. With everyone else I'm so good with words. Yes. No. Stop that." He took his sleeve and dried my cheeks. He might as well have been Sisyphus; once I get started I tend to cry a lot.

The tears flowed and I tried to ignore them while I spoke. "So you're just my bodyguard?"

"No. I'm more than that." He kissed me. Long and deep, like I remembered. "I'm a frightened, confused guy, who doesn't know what to say. Please stop crying."

I was feeling all kinds of things, desire, humiliation and confusion. He was confused? I was beyond confused. "Bobby, cut the crap, do you want to love me or not?"

"Yes, I do." He hugged me close to him and I snuggled in. This felt right.

I was thinking about broaching the subject of handcuffs when it flashed on me. The girl at the airport, Elizabeth something. "Hey Bobby, this menacing figure, it wouldn't be a blond Australian girl trying to pass for British, would it?"

He sat up so fast that he bumped his head on the window. "Nicole."

"She told me her name was Elizabeth. I met her at the airport in Washington. She wanted me to get coffee with her one day."

"She's out on bail. She's been indicted for murder. She threatened..." He held me so tight I couldn't breathe.

"Don't worry, I can take care of myself." I smoothed his hair and patted his cheek, "really, it will be fine. I'm going out of the country for a few days, that will give you time to take care of it. Do you really think that she'll be able to follow me to Argentina? Didn't she have to surrender her passport?"

"Don't underestimate her."

"Worry about her, she's underestimated me." I kissed him gently, sucking his bottom lip into my mouth. "You too have underestimated me. For that you must be punished. Where are your handcuffs?"

The rest of the weekend passed too quickly. He refused to leave me until I was past the security scanners at Kennedy. My flight was uneventful and my work in Buenos Aires went as expected. I met with government officials, I ate too much beef and I thought about Bobby.

Usually I am a model worker. I do what needs to be done; I write the report and I go to whatever party I'm supposed to attend. I found myself thinking about a different kind of life, one that included him. In the past I think he found it easy to crossover into my world. When he was in college, although he didn't have money, he was on the same level as my brothers. Once they all began to make their way in the world though, money mattered. It's easy for me to think about being with Bobby, I don't have to make any sacrifices. I moved in a world where his skills weren't valued. Although I didn't get the impression that his life, as he lived it, included people who admired his intellect.

I learned early that being smart wasn't as important as being liked. Depending on what you want to do in the world, a giant intellect can actually get in your way. Intelligence intimidates people. Bobby's work depended on his being the smartest guy in the room. He had to wear his brain on his lapel, right next to his badge. What would a guy like that want with me?

Don't get me wrong, I'm not stupid, that's not what I'm talking about. I think mixing with New York society would bore him silly. I'm used to it, it doesn't bother me. There are social climbers, people who weren't born into this lifestyle, who are desperate to be accepted into it. Truman Capote springs to mind. He was a brilliant writer and some society ladies took him into their confidence. Suddenly he was a socialite too. Up until he couldn't stand it anymore and wrote a scathing book about all of his friends. One day he looked around and his friends had all abandoned him. He went from the A-list to the shit list faster than you can say 'lunch at Le Cirque'. He never got over it.

Bobby is no social climber. Only someone who wanted something from New York society would ever willingly put up with our nonsense, and Bobby didn't want anything from any of us. Well, he might have wanted something from me, but it doesn't have anything to do with how long my family has been in the Social Register.

I mused on this on the plane when I should have been organizing my notes. I wondered if there was a way that I could make a graceful exit from my social life. How many of my friends would still want to lunch with me if I weren't so popular with society matrons? How many of my friends were really my friends? It makes you think. I felt so tired of my life. There had to be more to my life than meetings and parties. How did I want Bobby to fit in to my life; where did I fit into his?

I had taken an earlier flight home. I left a message for Bobby at his office letting him know to meet me at home when he left work. I fell asleep in the cab and the poor driver had to wake me up when I arrived home.

I got everything up to my apartment and I was about to close the door when I felt something hard in my back. "Get in and turn off your alarm." I hit the buttons on the keypad and turned around. It was her. Maybe the earlier flight had been a mistake.

It was the same girl I met at the airport. "I didn't know you were so anxious to have coffee. I can put on a pot in the kitchen."

She smiled, "you're awfully funny for someone who's going to die."

"We're all going to die," I said philosophically.

She seemed puzzled by my reaction. I think she wanted me whimper and beg. "Shut up. I'll bet you're wondering why I'm here."

Who did she think she was? Goldfinger? If she wanted to give me some long, justified explanation, who was I to argue? After all, she had the gun. "So it's not about coffee?"

I moved across the room to be closer to her. She gripped the gun tightly, it was a 357 Magnum, clearly too big for her to handle. "No, it's about your friend Bobby." She looked around my apartment, a recently renovated Classic 7, "slumming are you? What would a girl like you want with a man like him? Do you like a bit of rough? Does he bother your parents? Is it his big..." she smiled, waiting for me to get angry.

I shrugged, "He fox trots divinely. So what do you have against him anyway?"

My _sang froid_ disconcerted her, I bided my time, "_I_ have against _him_? He's the one persecuting me, he won't leave me alone," she smiled charmingly, "maybe you can get him to stop." She raised the gun and took aim.

In the news reports it didn't mention that she was so...insane. "So you're jealous."

She faltered, "jealous? Are you mad?" She had her thumb ready to cock the gun and I stepped forward and delivered a kick to her forearm. I heard the crack and the gun dropped to the floor, the crazy bitch, not realizing that her ulna was broken, went to grab it. I had enough, I grabbed her from behind and did what I had been trained to do. She fell like a sack of potatoes. I picked the gun up and set it down on the table.

"Stay right there. Do you take milk and sugar?" She moaned into my parquet floor as I picked up the phone and dialed 911. I let them know that there was an intruder in my house and to send the police and EMS. I had another phone call to make, but I needed to wait until I was alone.

I left her on the floor and waited for the paramedics. They arrived first and began stabilizing her so that they could take her to the hospital. The patrolman arrived but I told him that I wanted to wait for the detectives to arrive before I gave my statement. "What detectives?" he asked, as Bobby and his partner came through the door.

"These detectives." I said. "I believe that I will make a pot of coffee, it looks like we're going to be here for a while." I walked into the kitchen and Bobby and Eames followed me in there.

"What happened?" Bobby asked, "I thought you were coming back later."

"Did you bring my car?" I measured the grounds into the filter.

"You messed her up pretty good," Eames seemed to admire my handiwork, "what did you do?"

"Black belt in Tai Kwan Do. She was going to shoot me, so I disarmed her. I must not have done something right though, is she badly hurt?" I batted my eyelashes.

Eames rolled her eyes, "come on Cindy, you know what you did."

"Cynthia," Bobby corrected her. He took out his notebook and began to take notes. "Start from the top, what happened?"

I opened the freezer where I keep my vodka; I needed a drink. "Can I offer you a drink?" I poured three fingers into a glass and gulped half of it down. "Okay, I was in the hallway and she came up from behind me. She put something hard into my back and told me to go into the apartment and turn off the alarm, which I did. Then she started in on some crap about Bobby." I swallowed some more vodka and turned towards Bobby, "is it true that you're trying to make trouble for her?"

Eames laughed mirthlessly, "Yeah, that's true."

"She acts like she doesn't like you, but I think she's got a crush. Would it be unseemly if I had another?" I wiggled my empty glass at him.

"Yes." He took the tumbler from me and put it in the sink, "so then what happened?"

"She starts waving this cannon of a gun at me and blathering on about you. I mean, what am I supposed to do, let her shoot me?"

Poor Bobby, he probably thought that Elizabeth or Nicole or whoever she is had killed me. She might have too, if she were really intent on doing it properly. On one hand he had been trying to protect me and on the other, I didn't need his protection. "No, but after you disarmed her, why did you...incapacitate her?"

"Can you believe this dizzy broad reached for the gun with a broken arm?" I faced Eames, I thought she could relate better. "I couldn't take the chance."

Eames nodded and asked, "Where did you learn to break someone's neck like that? You don't see that everyday."

"That was a mistake. Using martial arts in a real life situation isn't the same as in the dojo." I needed them to stop asking questions. I wanted everyone to leave, everyone except Bobby.

"A mistake? Is that your story?" Eames shook her head.

"Yes, I went overboard. I was just trying to make sure that she didn't get the gun again." I took off my shoes; "I've been in these clothes for sixteen hours now. May I change?" My stockings were driving me nuts.

Eames looked helplessly at Bobby. He threw up his hands, "Cynthia..."

I responded by shrugging back at him, "It won't take a minute."

"Fine. Go." He waved in my direction.

I changed into my yoga pants and sweater, praying that I wasn't going to have to go downtown or anywhere. I just wanted a bowl of cereal and about twelve hours of sleep. I could hear Bobby and Eames talking quietly in the hall.

"Bobby, she's covering something up and you can't be objective." Eames had a point.

"I accept that, but what could she be covering up? Do you think that she's connected to Nicole in some way?" He paced back and forth.

"Don't tell me you don't suspect..." Eames started, and then she saw me.

"Can we clear the extra folks out of here before you voice that speculation?" I asked. It was time for me to cool the madcap heiress act.

It took a half hour, but everyone went away except for Bobby and Eames, or Alex as she had asked me to call her. We ordered a pizza and sat in the living room waiting for it.

Bobby doodled something on his pad and refused to look at me. Alex broke the tension, "so can you teach me how to do that?"

I smiled; she figured it out before Bobby did. That's why you should never get emotionally involved in cases, it clouds your judgment. "Sure, it won't take long."

Bobby got up and looked up into the corners of the ceiling. "So you admit that you didn't break her neck by mistake."

"Yes, it was intentional, but for the reason I stated, I needed to subdue her." I opened an old cigarette box and fished out a Galouise, I lit it with the old deco lighter on my cocktail table. I inhaled deeply. If he wasn't going to let me drink, then I needed something else.

He reached over and got a cigarette too. He brought my hand up to get a light off the end of mine. He inhaled and then blew the smoke out upwards. Then he trotted into the hallway and pointed to the picture there. "This is a Picasso etching?"

"Yes." I nodded, appreciating how he was putting it together. Alex already had it, but we patiently let him catch up.

"And this is a Miro?" He pointed to the painting on the far wall. I nodded. "Then that is a camera." He indicated something in the bookcase. "You'd need it for insurance purposes."

"Yes...but."

"But you don't want anyone to see the tape". He smiled at me and shook his head. "You especially don't want the NYPD to see the tape."

"That's right, but if it comes down to it, I guess I'll have to." I smiled. I knew he had it.

"Because we'd all know where you learned to break someone's neck." He stopped right in front of me. He got down on his knees and grabbed my free hand.

"And I can't have that." I said simply, "it would blow my cover."

"Your cover..." he took a drag on the cigarette, "now I need a drink."

I jumped up. I was ready for another round, "Alex, what'll you have?"

"Do you have a beer?"

"Yeah, glass or bottle?"

"Bottle is fine."

"Bobby, vodka okay?" He nodded numbly; I still don't think he believed it. I might have to show them the tape after all.

The pizza came shortly thereafter and we all ate. Bobby watched quietly as Alex and I discussed different aspects of the difficulty of subduing subjects without resorting to weaponry. Women are always criticized for going too soon for the gun. I never carried one, but I damn sure knew how to use one if I had to. All things considered, it was a nice evening. I liked Alex, she was tough. Later, Bobby and I put Alex in a cab and we went back up to my apartment.

I walked back to the bathroom. "Come keep me company while I have a bath." I filled the tub and sighed as I got in. I just soaked in the juniper oil. Bobby kept looking at me; it was bugging me. "Are you angry with me for something?"

He gestured in mute frustration, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Are you kidding? I don't tell _anyone_. The official story is that I am an economist and I specialize in telecommunications. I work for a think tank and I travel around the world gathering information. Because of who I am socially, I get invited to parties. If I mix and mingle with government officials, and if they tell me interesting things, well...I guess I find stuff out. Besides, did you really want to know? Does it really matter?" What if it did?

"I don't know. It's a lot to take in. I have to think of you differently." He sat down on the stool by the tub. He was still in his suit and tie.

"Look, you don't have to think of me differently. At least you know I can take care of myself." I got up and toweled off.

"When we got the call...and we saw EMS and the patrol car, I had just gotten your message...I was..." He held my damp body against his beautiful suit.

"But it was all okay. We're in professions that are dangerous. I guess that makes us mad, bad and dangerous to know." It was time to lighten the mood, "didn't you find it suspicious that I knew how to use handcuffs so well?"

"I thought..." he smiled, "no, but this time can I show _you_ how _I_ use the handcuffs?"

"I'll wrestle you for it." I offered. After all, fair's fair.


End file.
